


Can you hear the prayer of the children?

by AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Monster of the Week, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy/pseuds/AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He turned off his laptop, stood up, stretching and yawning loudly, before letting his arms fall to his sides with a grunt.</p><p>A beer.</p><p>Just one beer before bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can you hear the prayer of the children?

 

 

  * **Prologue**



He shuffled through to the dark kitchen and opened the fridge, light pooling round his feet as he bent forwards to grab a bottle.

A tiny movement in the corner of his eye made him glance up.

Nothing.

Standing up straight he slowly closed the fridge door and stood in the silent house, straining his hearing to see if there was some tiny sound, something that would betray an intruder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up to attention and he shivered, gripping the bottle tightly.

 _Don't be a pussy,_  he huffed out loud and shook his head. It was only natural that he was in a state of heightened alertness. Tomorrow was, after all, going to be amazing.

He hadn't done anything like this for months. Hell, he'd been afraid to, but now?

Now everything was perfect.

Turning to go back into the living room he saw her standing in the doorway and screamed shrilly in alarm. "Shit! Oh God!" He grasped at his chest and laughed.

"Hell Kari! You scared me half to death! What on earth are you doing here? It's like two in the morning!"

She didn't say anything, just shrugged.

"Well… so you want something to drink?" He let his breath out and smiled, his heart already slowing after the shock. "You wanna beer? I'll bet you do!"

She smiled and nodded, watched him as he turned back to the fridge.

Only the dog across the street heard him scream. Heard the gurgling, blood muffled cries for help then the splinter of bones as those cries were abruptly cut off. The dog was

usually a barker, but this time he was silent. This time he pressed his tail between his legs and padded into the back of his kennel, curling up into a tight ball.

* * *

 

  * **1**



Dean fished through the glove box for his FBI badge.

"Third this month." Sam said, flicking through the newspapers he had spread out on his lap. "So far, nothing's linked the vics."

"All the same MO though?" Dean asked before making a small noise of satisfaction as he found the badge and stuffed it into his inside pocket.

"Yeah. Ribcage bust open. Heart missing…."

"Werewolf?"

Sam pulled a face and shook his head. "You ever hear of a werewolf that ate gentiles?

Dean shivered and grimaced. "That's just nasty."

"You ready?"

"Yup."

 

* * *

"I'm special agent Ripley, this is special agent Dallas…." They held the badges up for the old woman to peer at through the crack in the door. "If we could just have a moment of your time." Sam smiled down at her slightly hostile frown.

"I already talked to the police. They're sending boys round in the morning to clean the apartment…"

"That's why it's important for us to take a look now ma'am, before the crime scene's contaminated." Dean said brusquely, throwing a smile in there for good luck.

"Well…. I suppose you should come in then." She grumbled, shutting the door, and they waited while she fumbled with the security chain before shuffling back to let them through.

"So… Mr Collinwood was your tenant?" Sam asked, pulling out his pen and pad.

"Oh Yah. Nearly five years. Good tenant too. Paid his rent, was quiet and clean, kept to himself."

"You didn't hear anything on the night of the attack?"

"No." She turned her head and tapped her hearing aid. "I take it out at night. Can't hear a goddamn thing without it."

Dean pointed up the stairs. "His place up here?"

"All the way to the top."

* * *

Stepping under the police tape Sam pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began opening drawers., looking through the letters and papers inside.

Dean tiptoed over the large blood stain in the kitchen. "Gross." He muttered to himself. "I hope for this dudes sake, what ever chowed down on him started with the heart and not the …." He made a vague gesture to his crotch and Sam shook his head.

"What, are you? Nine?"

"Shuttup…. Just creeps me out that's all. You find anything interesting?" He wandered over to the fridge and glanced at the pictures and notes pinned to the door with magnets.

"Nothing so far. Just bills and circulars."

Dean stopped and frowned, stepping his weight back on his heel.

Sam looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. "You got something?"

"Not sure."

Crouching down, he pulled back the large rug and, taking a knife from his pocket, prised at the floor board he'd been standing on.

"Bingo!"

The board popped up, revealing a space underneath, from which Dean pulled out a small plastic box.

"Ugh. Is it too much to hope that Mr junkless wasn't screwing around with witchcraft and this box isn't full of nasty?"

"Give it to me." Sam snatched the box from his hands and walked over to the small table on the other side of the room.

"Well?"

"It's a bunch of flash drives."

"Better than entrails and cat bones I guess. So, we heading back to the motel to take a look?"

"Yeah. Makes you wonder what needs to be kept secret so bad that you hide it under a freaking floor board."

Dean slapped his brother on the back and made his way towards the door. "Guy probably had some nasty fetish…. Come on, I wanna grab food on the way."

* * *

"Sick son of bitch."

Dean threw his burger down in disgust, all thoughts of food dispelled by the images on the screen.

"There must be thirty kids on here." Muttered Sam. "Jesus…" He slammed the laptop shut and yanked the flash drive out throwing it across the table as though it was contaminated, and unconsciously wiping his hand down the front of his pants.

"So. Our vics not so much of a vic after all. You think some kids Dad found out and ganked him?"

"Could be. But would a parent be careful enough to leave no prints? You saw the apartment Dean, it was a mess. If this was just a regular murder there would have been something in the police report. And, it doesn't account for the others?"

"The other vics?" Dean shrugged and took up his burger again, his stomach happier now that he couldn't see the kids in the pictures. "Maybe it's a kiddie porn ring? A couple of vigilante Dads set off to go Charles Bronson on their asses…. Nothing to do with us. More power to 'em."

"Yeah maybe. We should probably take a look at the other guys houses."

Dean grimaced unhappily, the food turning to ashes in his mouth.

"Fine. I'm not looking at any more pictures though."

* * *

"Oh George was lovely! I still don't understand who would do something like that." Georges neighbour dabbed at her watery eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and sniffled. "He was so quiet and helpful. Only last year he came over and cleared my guttering for me, wouldn't hear of taking any money from me… So sad."

They walked across the lawn to the victims house, letting themselves in with the spare key she'd given them.

"You ever wonder why it is these guys are always so nice and quiet and helpful?" Dean muttered as they walked through the house. "Normal people aren't like that. You ask a neighbour and there'll always be one thing, one little gripe they have. They play the music too loud, they don't rake their lawn enough, their kids are noisy. But these guys are so whiter than white it's creepy."

Sam didn't answer him.

Something about this case made him feel wary. He hadn't felt like this in years, that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you know something awful is about to happen but you're not in a position to do anything about it.

"Sammy?"

"What…"

Dean clicked his fingers in front of his brothers face and frowned. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine…. So… ah… look for files? Flash drives, video, pictures, anything like that."

"Hey …" Dean started towards the kitchen, pointing at the fridge. "Hey I've seen that before."

Sam followed him through to find him plucking a photo off the fridge.

"Is that the same picture?"

Dean shook his head. "No. but look." He pointed at a girl sat in the middle of the group of smiling kids and adults. Solemn faced with long dark hair that spilled out of her hoodie, almond eyes that stared seriously ahead. "She was in the picture on the other guys fridge. And both are in this one. Wanna bet the third guy here is vic number one? "

Sam took the picture and studied it. "I didn't see her on the flash drives." He turned the picture over and read the scrawled handwriting on the back.

_Helping hands drop in centre._

Grabbing the yellow pages sat next to the phone, Dean flipped through till he found it.

"It's a charity for kids of working single parents. Like a youth centre for kids who have no where to go between school and home." Dean tossed the phone book down with a grunt of disgust. "Perfect hunting ground for a sick bastard."

Sam pushed the picture into his pocket and walked towards the door. "We should go check it out." He muttered, not waiting for Dean to follow. Something dark and almost forgotten twisting in his heart.

* * *

The receptionist frowned at the picture and shook her head.

"I knew George of course, but the other two men? No. I'm sorry. Perhaps they were part of the volunteer team that took some of the kids camping last spring?"

"What about the girl?" Dean tapped the picture.

"I don't recognise her. But that don't mean a thing. Lots of kids come only a few times and we're not a day care or anything, just a place for the kids to come and hang out or get homework help. Sometimes we organise trips and things in the school holidays so they have something to do, but it's not a tight ship." She shook her head sadly. " We don't get the funding we need really. If it wasn't for fundraisers and volunteers we'd have closed long ago."

"Thank you for your time." Sam smiled softly.

As they walked across the lot to the impala Sam couldn't shake the feeling on being watched. He glanced behind him just as a small group of kids, no older than 11 or 12, ran past them, shouting excitedly at each other as they pushed through the double doors into the building.

Stopping to watch them he couldn't help but feel nauseous at the through of someone preying on these children.

Kids who probably didn't have anyone to talk to other than the adults who worked here. To think that the people they trusted would turn on them in the most vile way possible.

He gripped the side of the car and doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Whoa! Hey! Sammy…. What's wrong?" Dean was at his side, holding him up, his faced etched with concern.

Sam held his hand up, waving him away.

Then he saw her.

Stood at the edge of the lot.

The little girl from the picture, just standing there, watching him.

"Dean." He gasped, pointing at her.

He hesitated, then went to trot over to the girl, but as he moved she turned and ran away, across the scrappy strip of land that separated the lot from the buildings beyond.

"Shit." Dean watched helplessly as she disappeared into the distance, then turned back to Sam, still holding onto the car, pale and shaky. "OK… Come on… Lets get you back to the motel big guy."

* * *

 

  * **2**



Someone kicked the back of Sams chair.

He ignored it, but after three more kicks he turned to frown at the kid behind him.

"Hey Winchester…. Where d'you get your clothes? Goodwill reject bin?" He hissed, causing the children around them to giggle softly.

"Scagnetti… do we have a problem?"

Sam turned back in his chair to see the teacher frowning in his direction, the whiteboard pen paused in midair where he'd stopped writing.

He heard the kid behind him shift in his seat. "No Mr Green." He mumbled.

"Good… Winchester?"

Sam shook his head. "No sir, no problem here."

The teacher nodded once, curtly then turned back to the board.

No more kicks were aimed at his chair, but it didn't matter.

It wasn't like there was any point worrying about making friends anyway, he'd only be here a few weeks at the most.

Besides.

He didn't relate to most eleven year olds anyway.

It was hard to care about the things they found exciting or scary.

The warm afternoon sun streaming through the windows was making him sleepy.

Stifling a yawn he glanced over towards the clock and then down at the door.

Looking through the glazed upper half was a girl.

He frowned, wondering why she wasn't in class.

Her hoodie was pulled up over her head so that her hair spilled out at the bottom like black straw.

She stared at him with knowing eyes that made his stomach knot, and as he watched, she placed a hand on the glass and smiled sadly.

_Wake up._

* * *

With a gasp Sam sat bolt upright in bed, his hands grasping at his shirt, eye's darting around the motel room in fear.

"Hey. Sleeping beauty. You ok?"

He turned to see Dean watching him from the other side of the room, the laptop open in front of him.

"I'm fine….. Ah… How long was I out?" He ran his hands through his hair and swung his legs off the bed, pausing for a moment before trusting himself to stand.

"About eight hours. Kinda gave me a scare there Sammy." Dean watched him cross the room shakily. "So, I did some research while you were snoring your head off."

Sam splashed water on his face and wandered back from the bathroom, dabbing himself dry with the hand towel.

"Oh? Find anything?"

"Maybe." He turned the laptop round so Sam could see. " _Kariteimo_ , Japanese protector of children …. But she's a Goddess with a past. Say's here she used to be a Hindu demon, a  _yaksa_  that devoured children."

"So why the career change?"

"Apparently Buddha showed her the error of her ways.… But why is a Japanese Goddess ganking over here?"

"Does it matter?"

"Are you saying we should let this one go?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know man. I mean, these are some pretty sick bastards. Maybe we should."

Dean frowned at him. "They're still people Sam. Twisted, nasty ass people, but the law needs to punish them, not some random demon.."

"Goddess…."

"Demon, Goddess, whatever…. My point is, we don't know how she's picking these men, and apart from the flash drives at one of the guys place, we don't have any evidence that anyone else was involved."

"You're defending paedophiles?"

Dean pulled a horrified face and slapped the laptop shut. "No! I'm just saying that we can't walk away from this until we know what's going on….. Hell man! This is usually your spiel!"

"Yeah, well maybe this is different."

Sam stood up, grabbing his jacket off the bed and headed towards the door.

"Where you going?"

"I need some air…" He muttered, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Sam hunched his shoulders and strode off into the rainy night.

He'd forgotten.

How had he forgotten?

Eleven years old, still small for his age and dumped in some third rate school for a few weeks.

Again.

Who do they prey on?

The kids with no friends, the kids from dysfunctional families.

The kids crying out for someone to show them attention.

Kids like he'd been.

A buzzing started up in his right ear. Something so tiny that at first he didn't even notice, then growing louder and louder.

_Sam._

She stood before him.

The girl, her mouth turned down, small frame hidden under layers of clothes.

He cried out and fell to his knees, clutching at his head, the ringing growing to a shrill whine that made him feel like his skull was about to split open.

She reached for him, touched his face with cold, slender fingers, and darkness took him so quickly, he didn't even feel it when his face hit the pavement.

* * *

"Sam! Stay back a moment will ya?"

He stopped at Mr Greens Desk as the other kids filed out past him.

The teacher looked across at him and smiled. "Don't look so serious son! You're not in trouble."

The last kid left and a silence filled the room, the faint echo of kids rushing outside into the warm late afternoon sun.

"Take a seat Sam." He gestured to the desk at the front and Sam sat. "I know you're only here a short time and, well, I wanted to say that, considering the amount of moving about you have to do, you're turning in some really amazing work!"

Sam smiled shyly.

"Really?"

"Absolutely! In fact, I want you to have this…" He placed a brand new copy of Moby Dick in his hands and smiled. "I've been saving it for a special student and, well, I think I found him."

"Oh… Jeeze, Mr Green…. I don't know what to say…"

"Thank you is enough, and hey…. Outside class, you can call me Mike.."

"Ah.. Ok.. Thank you… Mike…"

"You're very welcome Sam! But listen.. Don't tell anyone, OK? Lets keep it our secret."

* * *

"Jesus Sam!"

He awoke to find Dean leaning over him, his hand turning Sam's face this way and that looking at the damage.

"Come on…. Lets get you out the rain kid….."

"I'm fine."

Dean snorted as he dragged his brother up off the wet floor. "Well I hate to break it to you, but you're clearly not."

"I saw her."

"Who?"

"The girl Dean…. I keep seeing her and when I do… I pass out. But I'm not passing out."

"You're not making any sense."

Dean went to lead him back towards the motel but Sam jerked away from him.

"She's making me remember!" He cried out, his voice breaking slightly.

"Remember what?"

"Denver." He said quietly.

"I don't…?"

"Mr Green."

Sam watched Deans face as his features slipped from confused to slow realization.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Sam…. Sammy…. I'd forgotten…"

He stumbled over to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. "Me too…. "

A hardness crossed his brothers face, but before Sam could say anything he put his arm around his shoulders and guided him back to the motel.

* * *

"What ever we do, I can't go with you. Every time I get near her it's like being hit by a train…ow!"

Sam jerked back from the alcohol Dean was dabbing on his forehead, the scrape he'd got from head butting the pavement was raw.

"Don't be a baby." Dean murmured. "So. You think I should go find her now?"

"I guess." Sam grimaced and touched the side of his head gingerly.

"OK. So how?"

"Well, we think this Kariteimo was responsible for the first two deaths, right, possibly a third?"

"Right."

"Well, look here…" Sam pulled the photo out of his pocket and, placing it on the table, he pointed to a fourth man, crouched down just behind the girl. "I didn't notice him before, could be our next vic?"

"What if he isn't?"

Sam shrugged. "Well then he isn't. Doesn't hurt to check it out. But the way I see it, three guys working at the same centre, all into this? Not hard to think that the fourth guy in this picture might be part of it. I mean I hope he isn't, but you should check it out anyway."

Dean stood up and grabbed his coat.

Taking the picture from Sams fingers he hesitated, looking down at his little brother.

"You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah. Go find this guy. Go hunt something."

As Dean left, Sam went over to the bed and lay down, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighing.

Perhaps it was the nature of his upbringing that made him forget.

Or, if not forget, then at least push it to the back of his mind.

Turning onto his side he lay very still, dry eyed, and remembered, with awful clarity, just how excited he'd been that someone had praised him.

That someone had finally noticed him.

* * *

 

 

  * **3**



Dean crouched down at the back of the building and carefully jimmied the window lock with a knife.

Luckily for him, Helping Hands didn't have enough funding to up the security on the crumbling centre, so it was easy to slip in with minimal fuss.

Although the receptionist hadn't known the other two guys in the photo, well, three now that Sam had pointed out the last one, he thought they must keep some sort of record of who volunteers.

There was something utterly depressing about the place.

As he walked through the dark, using his flashlight as little as possible, there was a distinct smell in the air. Almost Grade school like, all gloopy glue and chalk, but underneath it was something else.

An animal like smell.

The stench of poverty, desperation and maybe, a little fear.

* * *

_Can you keep a secret?_

His life was one big secret.

If there was something his Dad had taught him well, drummed into him with words and sometimes fists, it was the ability to keep a secret.

_Don't tell people who you are, don't tell them what I do, don't tell them about your mother, don't tell them you're on your own in the motel while I'm away._

Keep secrets was second nature to Sam, but this was the first time he'd kept one from his Dad.

He almost told Dean about the book, but something stopped him and instead, he slipped the book under his pillow until Dean was sleeping and his Dad was still hunting, straining his eyes in the weak glow from the lights outside, he opened the brand new book, inhaling the crisp, untouched paper smell.

_Call me Ishmael….._

This was his.

Not his Dads, not Deans, not something handed down from someone else or found in a motel room or truck stop.

A tiny worm of excitement squirmed in his belly at the thought of this secret.

Such a small thing.

A small item.

A small secret.

* * *

 

He nearly gave up.

Whoever run admin in this place clearly wasn't getting paid enough, or possibly at all.

Every cabinet and drawer yielded papers in no order. Nothing alphabetized or collated, just stuffed in the nearest space.

Just as he was nearing the end of his tether he found it.

Jammed in the back of a drawer, a folder labelled "Camp trip 2005".

"At last…" He muttered, opening the file and flipping through it.

On the last page was a hastily scrawled list of names and addresses.

The first three were all dead, which left just one more.

Tearing the page out, Dean stuffed it in his pocket and headed back out through the window.

* * *

 

"Can you help me Sam?"

Of course he'd help.

After school most days he gladly stayed behind to help clean up the classroom, or collect some books from the library ready for the next days lesson.

Sometimes Mr Green would have him pull up a chair and they'd talk. About what Sam wanted to do when he was older, his favourite books and TV shows, he'd laugh at something some kid had said during the day, or do an impression of one of the other teachers, the tight lipped teacher in the room next door, or even the principal.

He'd open his drawer and fish out candies, sharing them with Sam while they chatted.

And maybe sometimes Mr Green would hug him a little tight, or keep his hand on Sam's shoulder just a little longer than he liked.

But it was nothing.

Who was he to make Mr Green feel bad for being friendly, when all he'd ever done was been nice to Sam.

It was Nothing.

_And Sam slept fitfully, the sheets bunched up under his legs where he was kicking, a sheen of sweat on his brow._

_From time to time he called out for Dean, his voice small and panicked._

_She sat on the bed and looked down at him pityingly, running her small hand over his face before leaving his side as though she'd never existed.._

_There was work to be done._

* * *

The house was a small clapboard on the wrong side of the industrial units just outside town.

Pulling up across the street, Dean noted that all the lights were off barring a faint glow from the back of the house.

Taking his gun from the glove box, he checked it quickly, before leaving the car and jogging across the street.

Quickly, he picked the lock and slipped inside, waiting for a moment before moving stealthily through to the back of the house.

The glow he'd seen from outside, came from the kitchen, and poking his head around the corner he saw the man from the picture sat in on of the kitchen chairs, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side, his eye's wide and vacant, feet drumming lightly on the floor.

"Come in Dean."

He swung around, raising the gun towards the voice.

The girl stood off to the side, smiling slightly. "You can't kill me with bullets. Not that it matters here. This one is nearly finished."

"Finished what." Dean growled, keeping the gun raised anyway.

"Watching."

"What?"

She turned her gaze on and he almost stepped back. White light bloomed behind her eyes for a moment, then she blinked and it was gone.

"Mark Carver, 36, single, worked at a rendering plant until it closed down two years ago. Last year he got friendly with three other fellow… I believe you've seen them…" She smiled almost coyly at Dean, then continued. "Well these fellows were just diamonds among men, they did a lot of volunteer work with kids, good citizens, all round nice guys…."

Dean watched her walk around the chair, running a hand across Marks face, making him quiver and whimper.

"Do you know what they did to this girl? All four of them?"

"I don't want to know, he's a sick bastard, but the law…"

"The law.." Her voice rose abruptly and the glasses in the cupboard behind her rattled. Taking a breath she shook her head at Dean. "….the law has never been very good at getting to the root of the problem." She smoothed down her top and indicated to herself. "This child wasn't the first they preyed on, but she was the one without anyone to tell. Left alone for days at a time by a neglectful mother, that centre was the only place she could go, and they defiled it. In some ways it's more sickening than what they actually did to her. You're out of your depth little one. Go and leave justice to me."

"Sure, like I'd trust you. You're a demon possessing a little girl."

She turned to him and frowned. " _Was_ a demon. Makes no real difference. I always protected my children, only now, they're all my children. I'm the original tiger Mom."

She laughed lightly and went back to Mark.

"When they call, I answer. Many don't call. Many deny even to themselves that they have been wronged by someone they trust, and that's the real tragedy here, don't you think Dean? That a child, so pure, and trusting that adults will keep them safe, can be wronged like this."

She turned to Dean and pushed her hood back. "She called me, I answered, and when this is over, she'll have forgotten that any of it ever happened. She'll forget she ever met them. Now you tell me…. Could your justice system do that?"

Walking towards Dean, her expression changed to one of pity. "You know better than most what such memories can do."

She touched his face and he fell.

* * *

_Goddamnit it! Where was he?_

_Dean had waited outside the school for nearly half an hour._

_Dad had called and if he didn't haul Sammys ass back to the motel soon there'd be hell to pay._

_He'd watched the rest of the kids leave the building, waited while the stragglers came through the double doors in dribs and drabs, then sighing elaborately, he jogged up the steps and into the building._

_Somewhere in the back of the building, a cleaning cart squeaked through the halls, the smell of paint and wipe able marker, overcooked lunches, the shampoo and sweat smell you get when a lot of young kids are in the same building._

_He wrinkled his nose and walked down the hall, looking for Sam._

_Room 4B, that was his class, he was sure of it. Had written it down and everything._

_How many 4B's had he been in?_

_Too many to count._

_Schools always seemed to name their rooms the same._

_He poked his head round the door and looked inside._

" _Yo…. Sammy?"_

_Only silence greeted him._

_The he saw it._

_Sams backpack, lent up against the teachers desk._

_He couldn't be far then._

_Leaving the room, Dean walked more confidently down the hall, glancing into classrooms as he went until he reached the library._

_Not here either._

_With a disgusted sigh Dean turned to leave, then heard a thump from behind a cupboard door._

_Maybe it was instinct, the kind a parent usually has for their child, but something made him stop, made him open the door._

_Little wide eyed Sammy, squirming to get away from a guy._

_He held Sam's wrist in one hand, stopping him from running, although Dean thought by the frightened rabbit expression on his face, Sam was incapable of moving, let alone fleeing. The guys other hand fumbling with his belt while a horrified Sammy watched._

_Dean wasn't tall, he wasn't broad. But a summer hunting with his Dad had made him tough, and he didn't hesitate to draw his fist back and put all his weight behind his punch._

_As he fell forwards, something in Sam snapped and he shot out of the cupboard and into Deans arms._

" _Who's this?"_

" _Mr Green." Sam answered, stifling a sob._

_Mr Green turned to face Dean, his eye's hard, his face desperately trying to snap back to respectable teacher, despite the flush in his cheeks._

" _I should kill you." Deans voice shook and he took a step forwards._

" _No!" Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "Let's just go."_

_Dean wrenched his arm away and pushed Mr Green back into the cupboard, pummelling him with his fists until the man was curled up in a ball on the floor, his hands held over his head._

" _Dean pleeeaaase!"_

_He kicked him on the way out, then grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him out of the library, marched him through the halls and outside._

_Only then did he stop, turning to face Sam, running his hands through his hair then wincing as he realised he'd bloodied his knuckles._

" _Did he… did he do anything to you Sam? Did he touch you?"_

_Sam shook his head._

" _Don't like to me now…. If he so much as laid one finger on …"_

" _He Didn't….. I mean, he was going to, but you…. You…"_

_And then the tears came all at once and Dean took him in his arms and crushed him fiercely to his chest._

" _It's ok…. It's ok kiddo…"_

" _It's not!" Sam wept angrily. "It's all my fault! I kept staying behind with him and I made him want to….. I thought he was my friend!"_

_Dean took his brother by the shoulders and crouched down. "Now you listen to me. You did nothing wrong… Nothing!"_

_Sam nodded. "Don't tell Dad." He whispered._

_And Dean knew he couldn't._

_Because John might actually kill the guy._

_But then even worse._

_He might not._

" _You forgot your bag. Want me to go get it?"_

_Sam shook his head. "Only has a book in it anyway."_

* * *

"I have to finish."

Dean blinked himself awake at the sound of her voice.

"Perhaps you would like to leave first. It's not pleasant."

He nodded, pulled himself up and went to leave.

"The girl….. ?"

"Safe in her bed by sun up."

He left.

The screams following him back to the car.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes.

Slowly he sat up, running his hands over his face, trying to chase the sleep away.

It was over.

Either way, it was over.

Something loosened in his chest a little and he knew.

When Dean walked through the door he wouldn't ask and Dean wouldn't tell.

They'd pack the Impala and head out of town.

Leaving the whole stinking mess behind them.


End file.
